


a soft but endless prayer

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Season 8 speculation, ish, mostly set prior to season 8, with some sexytime references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 00:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: On their march to Winterfell, Jon runs into a minor problem, so Daenerys devises a quick solution for him.





	a soft but endless prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little drabble inspired by all the Jonerys goodies we got this week, namely this photo from the Entertainment Weekly issue. I thought Jon's hair looked a bit different, and now I want to see Dany braiding it for him.
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_“Seven hells.”_

Dany rolled over when she heard Jon’s hushed curse, finding him on his hands and knees next to her cot. She blinked the sleep from her eyes. “What are you looking for?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

His head popped up, his raven curls falling into his eyes. “Sorry to wake you,” he said, chagrined, sitting back on his haunches. His tunic gaped open at the neck, untied and disheveled as if he’d only just slipped it on.

She sat up on her elbow, the fur covers slipping down her shoulder. “It’s light out. I should be getting up anyway.” Beyond the closed flaps of her canvas tent, she could hear the muted conversations of their men, their footsteps on the frozen ground as they went about their morning ablutions, the gentle braying of the horses. She tugged the covers back up to keep out the chill, but to little avail. “What’s the matter?”

Jon huffed and carded a hand through his hair. “I can’t find my tie,” he said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“Your what?”

“The leather tie. For my hair.” At her confusion, he gestured to his head. “You know it. You’re the one who insists on removing it every time.”

“Oh.” Dany finally smiled, wriggling into a sitting position on her cot. She kept the covers snug around her. “I’m sorry I don’t know where it got to this time,” she said innocently. “I was a bit distracted last night.”

He pinned her with a look. “Not too distracted to take it out, though.”

She hunched her shoulders, her face nearly swallowed by the furs. “I like your hair down when you’re fucking me.” He blushed, as she knew he would, but he cleared his throat, attempting to appear unbothered by the bluntness of her words. “You should just leave it down. Save us both the time.”

Amused, Jon shook his head. “Then it would get in my face.”

“Mm. Sounds like you need to cut it then,” she teased. He leaned toward her, hands braced on the cot.

“So you want to delay our march to Winterfell just so you can make someone cut my hair? And who would do it? You?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, fighting a smile at the humor dancing in his dark eyes. “Obviously, Varys would be the smarter choice.”

Jon laughed, a low rumble that made her belly flip over, made her loins tighten with a delicious burn. “I don’t think I want  _that_ close of a shave.”

“Then come here. I’ll fix it for you.” Dany scooted back as far as she could on the cot, giving him enough space to sit on the edge before her. She lowered the furs to free her arms, gooseflesh prickling her skin. Her nipples tightened in the frigid air, and his eyes leisurely ogled her bare breasts for a moment. She tried not to think about his elaborate attentions to them only hours before, the feel of his cock stretching her open as he plunged into her—

Now  _she_ was the one who was blushing, recalling the lurid memories. Good thing he faced away from her as he perched on the cot. Reaching up, Dany combed her fingers through his loose hair, gently brushing out the knots she had likely put there herself. His hair was just too luscious to resist touching.

It was like silk, made smooth by the oils she’d rubbed into the strands a few days prior, much to his confusion. It was a concoction her handmaids used on her own hair, to keep the follicles undamaged in the harsh winter climate as they made the trek across the North. He smelled like spice and flowers, reminding her of Essos. She smiled to herself.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, dutifully keeping his head facing forward as she worked.

“I’m going to braid it so it won’t fall in your face,” she said matter-of-factly, sectioning the top half of his hair into three separate strands.

“You’re going to braid my hair?” he repeated in disbelief. Dany laughed quietly.

“It’s about time you had your own Dothraki braid, don’t you think? From Ser Davos’ talk, you’ve had many a victory.”

Jon scoffed under his breath. “Aye, and I’ve had just as many defeats, too. What do the Dothraki do for that?”

Dany pondered it as she plaited his hair. “I’m not sure. With the Dothraki, there is no room for defeat. I suspect you’d be as bald as Varys.”

He huffed out a laugh. “What a sight that would be.”

“You’d be just as handsome without your hair,” she assured him, pausing to press a kiss to the nape of his neck. His shoulders lifted with a deep breath, and he released it. Resuming her task, Dany made quick work of the rest of his hair, though she would have loved to have lingered all day with him in her cot, her hands in his hair, his lithe, powerful body between her legs. But outside she could hear the others growing increasingly restless, ready to continue their march. And she still had her own hair to attend to, which would be a much more arduous process.

“There,” she said, studying the small braid. With the oils and the natural curl to his hair, the braid would hold for a little while, maybe even through the duration of their ride on horseback. If not, she supposed she could always spare him one of her own hair ties.

“How do I look?” he asked over his shoulder.

She hugged the furs to her breasts. “Perhaps I should add bells to complete the look.”

Jon stood from the cot but turned around to lean into her. He growled softly, playfully. “Like I’m a cat? Do you want the dead to hear us coming?”

She reached up to cup his face, her lips grazing his in a kiss. “Yes. So they will know a great warrior approaches, and they will all cower in fear before you.”


End file.
